The DoctorDonna's Guide to Chiswick on Twenty Pounds a Day
by Hay Bails
Summary: The eleventh Doctor finds himself stranded in Chiswick Square with no money, no friends, and a dead time machine. Who better to help him back onto his feet than the lovely Donna Noble? The Doctor finds himself playing house with a woman he thought was only a distant memory.
1. Prelude: That Special Man

The man stumbled out of the box, tears streaming down his face. He barely even looked up to register where the rift had come out. Blindly he made his way across the road, which was, fortunately, not very busy this time of night, and found an empty seat at a picnic table out front of the George and Devonshire. Every now and again, he would glance over toward the box, regarding it with a faint hope that dimmed each time he saw it.

Mary, a kindhearted, dim woman of about thirty, watched from across the way. Being rather plump, she waddled a bit closer. The man from the box was muttering now, quietly, to himself, "She's gone… she's gone…"

Mary had been walking home from work at the restaurant when she had noticed the man. His tweed outfit and bowtie had caught her eye; he looked lost and out of place. In fact, he looked a little… special. As in, special needs.

Now, Mary had no problem with special needs people, but she was a tad concerned over this one, what with him crying and muttering to himself. Yes, he was a bit of a loon, but he didn't seem dangerous. Mary decided to walk back over and check up on him – can't have those types of people wandering around at night by themselves – to make sure he was alright.

"Hello, dearie," she said, taking a seat at the table next to him. The restaurant was well past closing time, and no one came out to stop them. The bowtied man did not acknowledge her. "My name is Mary."

"She's gone…" mumbled the bowtied man, obviously consumed in his current train of thought.

Mary put her hand over his. "Who's gone, love?"

The bowtied man looked up, startled at her sudden touch. He seemed to see her for the first time. "She… the TARDIS is… gone…" His eyes glazed over again.

"Ah," said Mary, in well-meant sympathy. "Well, I'm sure she'll come back soon enough. Is this… Tadrisse… the person who takes care of you?" She remembered vaguely that special needs people usually had a keeper to look after them. This one's keeper seemed to have wandered off for the moment.

The bowtied man did not answer, but instead began to cry harder.

"There, there, love," Mary patted his hand gently. "She'll come back. What's your name?"

The man sniffed. "I'm… the Doctor…"

"A lovely name, dear. Do you want to be a doctor someday?" He stared at her through bleary eyes. "What's your real name, though?"

"Name's… the Doctor." He regarded her, still quietly crying, unable to stop. "'M' an alien." He looked down. "From… 'nother planet. Can't g-go… back…"

"All right, love, all right. Who is it you're looking for? Maybe I can help?"

The bowtied man stared at her blankly, as if she was stupid. "No one…"

"Oh, dearie duck, I'm sure someone is out looking for you. They're probably as worried about losing you as you are about losing your… Tadrisse?"

The man brought his knees up onto the bench, curling himself into a ball at the name. Mary, alarmed, placed a gentle hand on his back. "Hush, love, I'm sure she'll be back soon."

The bowtied man sobbed into his knees. "She c-can't… she… she's… she's dea-"

"_Doctor?!"_

A redheaded woman, tall and curvy and quite pretty, ran to the bowtied man's side. Mary looked up at her, scrutinizing. "Does this one belong to you, dear?"

"He's my friend, if that's what you're asking." The redhead placed her hands on her hips. Mary frowned.

"Are you… Tadrisse?"

"Tadrisse?"

"Yeah, he keeps going on about how he's lost this Tadrisse."

The redhead looked up, racking her brain. "Tadrisse, Tad-reece, Tad-ris… Tar… Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Doctor, the TARDIS… is she…?" She looked around, and saw the faded blue police box across the street. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The man called the Doctor looked up at this new woman. "Donna…" he breathed. "Donna Noble…"

The woman called Donna Noble looked down at the broken man. "Oh, Doctor," her eyes filled with pity. "Oh, love, come here…" Donna gathered the Doctor into her arms, lifting him off the bench. He buried his face in her shoulder, crying with soft, mewling sounds into the fabric of her shirt.

Donna turned to face Mary. "My name's Donna. I'm… a friend of his."

"I've been watching out for him," Mary began, brightening at this new development. "Sweet boy. He's been worried sick about this Tadrisse person… is she his mother? I do hope she comes back for him soon. Such special people don't deserve to be left alone…" She placed extra emphasis on the word 'special.'

Donna glared at the woman. How dare she make such an assumption about the Doctor! Then, looking down at the shaking bundle in her arms, she decided that she might have made the same assumption about him had she not known who he was. "You're right. He doesn't deserve to be left alone. Are you ready to come home now, Doctor?"

The man sniffled his assent, and Donna gently peeled him away from her shoulder and put an arm around his back. She slowly began leading him away, up toward Devonshire Road.

Mary watched as the pair made their way into the night, one still crying, and the other murmuring hushed words of encouragement. She felt as if, on some level, she had performed some great civic duty. She began heading the other way, along the Thames, feeling quite pleased with herself for helping such a special person.


	2. Damage Is Done

The golden light flashed around Donna. It was hard to tell where it came from, exactly, but it seemed to be emanating from her body. It fell from her eyes and mouth, and seeped out of her pores, illuminating her in a gold glow. _Huon particles,_ she thought, before dismissing the thought as useless drabble. _What the hell is a Huon particle, anyway? Get it together, Donna._

The golden waves swirled luxuriously around her body, taking their time. They moved down her arms, falling from her fingertips and pooling at her feet. For some reason, Donna was not afraid. She would be hard pressed to tell you why, but the golden light streaming out of her made her feel safe.

After about a minute, the steady flow slowed to a trickle, then to nothing, as the golden glow at her feet began to pulse steadily. Donna stepped outside of the pool and watched as it began to move. It flowed toward the door, and seeped underneath, seeming to know exactly what it wanted. Donna calmly followed it.

The pool found its way out of her house, and began moving down the Devonshire Mews, on its way toward Devonshire Road. Donna, again without being to explain why, continued to follow it on foot. The pool moved slowly, and she was able to keep up without much effort.

On and on she followed the pool of golden light as it swirled its way toward Chiswick Square. Something, Donna figured, was about to happen. Something important. And she wasn't about to miss it.

The golden pool came to a rest in the middle of Chiswick Square, across the street from the George and Devonshire. It paused, seemingly waiting for something. Then, with a sudden flash, it zoomed upward and out of sight. Donna tilted her head back to watch it go. She waited for a minute or two, head craned back at the evening sky, waiting for the important thing to happen.

Then suddenly and without warning, a blue box – a police box, the kind they had back in her grandfather's day – came careening out of the heavens. Donna dove to the side, and the flying box missed her head by a couple of feet. It landed with a hard crash a few yards from her, making a sound that a police box that small had absolutely no right to make. It sounded as if an aircraft carrier had landed, instead of a small wooden crate – _bigger on the inside, _she thought, before dismissing the idea. Where were these ridiculous thoughts coming from? Donna turned to look at the box.

It was turned on its side, the doors facing the sunset sky. The wood was splintered in a few places – Donna was amazed that the wood was still intact at all, after such a fall. There were a few specks of the golden light that had flowed from Donna's body surrounding the box, but they were fading quickly. A dying light on top of the box flickered once or twice before going out.

_The TARDIS,_ screamed Donna's subconscious mind. _She's hurt!_

And Donna Noble remembered.

* * *

Donna awoke lying on the sidewalk in Chiswick Square. Her head hurt like a menace, but she remembered everything. The Doctor had abandoned her, here on Earth, with her mother and grandfather. She supposed he had been justified - being alive was much better than the alternative, even without all the memories – but her fists still clenched in anger. How dare he? That ridiculous, egotistic alien, thinking he had the right to decide what was best for her! _What a fucking liberty,_ she thought to herself.

She decided to walk… well, climb right into that box, and give that man a piece of her mind. She rattled the doors; they didn't budge. She resorted to pounding on the already battered wood, screaming the Doctor's name. She kicked the box too, for good measure.

"Come out, you old pile of a heap! You had better bloody well explain yourself, _right this minute_, or I'll… I'll…" Her knocking slowly came to a stop as she looked around the street. She probably looked a complete fool right now. Sure enough, a mother was standing across the street from her, holding her child close as they stared, wide-eyed and ready to bolt. Mother and child slowly backed away, and ran around a corner.

Donna sighed, gave the TARDIS a pat in apology, and turned to face the empty square. Only… it wasn't empty. A man and woman were sitting at a picnic table in front of the George and Devonshire, talking. Donna squinted. It couldn't be him… was it? She took a few steps toward the pair. He seemed a bit too tall… and skinny. His hair was all wrong. And yet…

Donna took another step or two, until they were within hearing distance.

"-the Doctor," the man was saying, quietly. He was obviously quite upset about something. "-alien. From… 'nother planet. Can't…"

Donna stopped in her tracks. It couldn't be. He couldn't be…

But he _was._

And he was crying…

"_Doctor?!" _Donna ran to his side.

The woman he had been talking to looked up at her. "Does this one belong to you, dear?"

Donna didn't like the look of this woman. She hoped that the Doctor hadn't been travelling around with her. She seemed a bit too… plain. Donna frowned.

"He's my friend, if that's what you're asking." She caught a look into the Doctor's eyes. Oh, yes. It was definitely him.

"Are you… Tadrisse?" The woman said the name with a trifle of doubt, as if she knew she was saying it wrong, but she was too put off by the actual word to pronounce it correctly.

"Tadrisse?" Donna echoed.

"Yeah, he keeps going on about how he's lost this Tadrisse."

Donna's ears perked up. The word sounded familiar, somehow. She started mumbling to herself, trying to work it out. "Tadrisse, Tad-reece, Tad-ris… Tar…" She trailed off. She couldn't be referring to the TARDIS. Could she? This strange woman, and the blue box… which had crashed from the sky… and was obviously hurt…

The gears in Donna's head turned as she worked it out. The Doctor was sobbing his hearts out in front of her, mumbling about losing the TARDIS… that could only mean one thing.

"Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Doctor, the TARDIS… is she…?" Donna looked back, and saw the faded blue police box across the street, turned on its back, lights out, wood sticking out at all angles. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The Doctor looked up. "Donna…" he whispered through his tears. "Donna Noble…"

She looked down at the broken man. "Oh, Doctor. Oh, love, come here…" She couldn't be mad at him for leaving anymore. Not like this, crying like a lost little boy. Donna's anger dissipated, replaced only with pity. She gathered him into her arms, and pulled him off the bench so they were standing in a proper hug. She let him bury his face – his new face – in her shoulder as he cried.

Donna turned to face the strange woman.

"My name's Donna. I'm… a friend of his."

The woman brightened. "I've been watching out for him. Sweet boy. He's been worried sick about this Tadrisse person… is she his mother?" The Doctor tensed up against Donna at the words. She gently began working the fingers of her right hand through his hair. "I do hope she comes back for him soon," the woman continued. "Such… _special_ people don't deserve to be left alone…" The woman looked at Donna quite meaningfully at the word 'special.'

Donna glared at Mary. How dare she make such an assumption about the Doctor! Then again… she looked down at the precious alien in her arms. She might have made the same assumption… he had been going on about aliens, after all. And she had to admit, he was a bit of a kook, even on his best days.

"You're right," Donna admitted, adding silently to herself, '_about the first part.'_ She continued, "He doesn't deserve to be left alone. Are you ready to come home now, Doctor?"

The alien sniffled his assent. Donna gently peeled him away from her shoulder and wrapped an arm around his back. She slowly began to steer him up toward Devonshire Road, back to the Mews and a warm bed, and away from his dead spaceship.

Donna murmured soft words of encouragement to the Doctor as they made their way unsteadily back to Donna's home. He had stopped sobbing, but the tears still streamed down his face, and he began to hiccup. The walk back to her house wasn't typically a long one, usually ten minutes at a good pace, but the Doctor seemed to be in shock, and Donna went slowly with him.

They got to the front door about twenty minutes later, him finally having quieted down a bit. His face was red and his eyes were puffy, but the Doctor had stopped crying, and was letting Donna lead him without a fuss.

"Here we are," she said. "Home sweet home. Now, Gramps and Mum are home, so let's try to be as quiet as we can, yeah? If we're lucky they won't even notice you're here until tomorrow…"

The Doctor looked at her blankly, his eyes dull. She gave his arm a squeeze, then pulled the key out of her pocket, and turned it in the lock with a small 'click.'

"Donna!" a voice screeched from somewhere in the back. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake…" Donna mumbled. "Out on a walk, mum."

Sylvia Noble stepped into the entryway, seething with menace. "We've been worried sick! Gone for an hour, just _walked out_, no note, no message on the phone, nothing! What are we supposed to expect? Hm?" She faltered, noticing the Doctor for the first time. "And who the _hell_ is this!? You've brought home some new… new _boy toy_ and no notice! My word, the nerve of you. How on earth am I supposed to run a decent household when-"

"Sylvia!" an older man chided gently from the next room. "Who has Donna brought home with her?"

"A _man!" _Sylvia said, appalled.

Donna sighed.

Wilfred Mott walked over to stand next to Sylvia. "And who is this, Donna?"

"Gramps, Mum… this… is the Doctor."

A look of horror passed over Wilf and Sylvia's faces, before Wilf cleared his throat. "Sylvia, that's not… it must be another Doctor…" he murmured to his daughter.

"Right," said Sylvia, instantly re-composed and tight-lipped. "A doctor, you say? About time you find someone respectable-"

"_Mum._ This is the Doctor," Donna said again, meaningfully. "_The_ Doctor."

Wilf and Sylvia stared. The Doctor looked down, abashed, dragging a toe through the dust on the step.

"But…" Sylvia began. "But he's all _wrong!_ He's not… he isn't…"

"He had spiky hair the last time we saw him," Wilf said softly. "But I expect he's changed quite a bit since then…"

Donna nodded in agreement.

"Is it really…?" Wilf asked.

"It's me," the Doctor croaked out. He looked up, turning his red eyes to Wilf. "Hello."

Sylvia began to sputter in the background.

Wilf reached out a shaky hand to touch the Gallifreyan's cheek. "It really is you… but… if it… you… Donna!" In a flash, Wilf was holding his granddaughter. "Donna! Donna, please… please don't go… you can't die!"

"'M fine, Gramps," Donna said, her voice muffled by the top of her grandfather's head.

Sylvia continued to sputter in the background.

"Wilf," said the Doctor softly, his voice hoarse. "Donna will be fine."

Wilf opened one eye and peeked over at the Doctor. "You mean it?"

The Doctor nodded. "She… the TARDIS, my ship… my ship has been… dying, for some time now…" the Doctor paused to swipe at the tears that threatened to fall again. "I didn't think… so soon… but Donna." He looked up at Wilf, firm and resolute. "My ship absorbed the negative energy from Donna. It was… her parting gift, to me… Donna will be fine."

Wilf stepped back cautiously, keeping hold of Donna's hands, as if afraid that she would keel over at any moment. "Donna?"

"It's true… it's why I left earlier. All this golden energy started flowing away from me… I had to follow it. Now… can we come inside, please?"

"Right!" Wilf snapped to attention. "Right. Come in, Doctor."

Wilf stepped out of the way, pulling Sylvia gently behind him. They disappeared into the next room, Sylvia still sputtering and near hysterics, going on about "these bloody Martians…"

Donna stepped over the threshold of the door. The Doctor looked at her with pleading eyes, not moving. She sighed, and took his hand. "It's all right, Doctor. They're just surprised. Please come inside."

He took a tentative step forward.

"That's it, love. Let's get you all taken care of." Donna shut the front door behind him, and took both his hands in hers. She carefully led him to the bathroom, still going slowly. The encounter with Sylvia and Wilf had obviously taken a lot out of him, and he seemed to be on the verge of tears again.

"-a bloody _Martian!" _Donna and the Doctor both jumped. They could hear Sylvia continuing to shriek from the other room. The Doctor's eyes were wide, and he looked scared. Like a small child.

For the first time since she had met up with him earlier that evening, Donna got a good look at her Spaceman. He was still scrawny, and had a bit more hair. His chin was more prominent, his nose was more… feminine, she supposed. He was a tad shorter. But none of these features stood out so much as the scrapes and bruises. His outfit was torn and raggedy – she assumed from the TARDIS's crash at the Square – and he had a rather nasty bump on his forehead. She gently touched a finger to it, and he flinched.

"Oh, you poor thing," she said softly. "Will you let me help you?"

He stared at her, wild-eyed and fearful.

She put her hands on her hips. "Now, don't start getting all independent with me, buster. Aliens need help too, sometimes."

The Doctor nodded slowly, still looking terrified.

"You know I would never hurt you," Donna continued, more gently. She rubbed the Doctor's arm.

"I know…" the Doctor said, so softly that Donna wouldn't have caught it if she hadn't seen his lips moving.

"Good. Now, come here." She pulled him over toward the sink. She turned on the water, waited until it was warm, and wet a nearby washcloth. She gently dabbed at the scrapes on the Doctor's face, making sure they were clean. She slowly pulled off his tweed jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt, and did the same for the cuts and scrapes on his arms. The bruising she couldn't do much about, but she rubbed some ointment into his skin, hoping it would help. No painkillers, she remembered, so she supposed that this was the best she could do for now.

"There," she said as she finished. "Does that help a bit?"

She met the Doctor's eyes, which were brimming with thankful tears, this time. "Thank you, Donna," he said quietly. "Can I ask…" he trailed off.

She looked at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"Never mind, it's not… important…" He grimaced.

Donna raised an eyebrow. "Not important? You, calling something unimportant?"

"Fine, fine. I just wondered… how you recognized me."

"The bit about aliens and other planets wasn't enough to give it away?" Donna replied conversationally as she tossed the used washcloth in the bin. "If you really want to know… it was your eyes. I saw it in your face when I saw you talking with that woman at the Square. I just… knew."

The Doctor nodded. This made sense. Not a lot of people could tell, once he had regenerated. Other Gallifreyans could, but that time was long past.

"Why don't I rustle you up some pyjamas? We'll have a proper sleepover," said Donna, patting his hand. She stood up and headed to the front room.

"-and I will not have an _alien_ in my home!" screeched Sylvia, maniacally, as Donna walked in.

"Now, Sylvia, he is just as much of a person as any of us. We talked about this!" Wilf shot Donna an apologetic glance. "Remember the last time we had that nice black family over? You were so worried about them, and they turned out to be lovely people-"

"The Martian isn't _black!_ That's different! There's no comparison!"

Donna folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "No. He isn't black. Or Martian. What he is, is hurt, and tired, and he needs pyjamas. Gramps? Do you have any he can use?"

Wilf looked at the Doctor, who was hiding behind Donna. He seemed grateful for the change of subject. "'Course I do, Donna. Second drawer down, on the right. The striped ones might fit."

"Thanks, Gramps." Donna turned to leave the sitting room.

"Oh, no you don't!" yelled Sylvia. "You are not – _not! – _letting Alien Boy near our clothes! You don't let him touch a single thing!"

"Oh, shut it," said Donna, and took the Doctor's hand. They turned down the hallway toward Wilf's room, Donna smirking as the shouting continued behind her. She felt bad for leaving her grandfather in there with her hysterical mother, but the Doctor was her first priority right now.

"Now, let's see…" she said, opening her grandfather's chest of drawers. "Second drawer… striped… here we are." She pulled out the specified pyjamas, and held them up to the Doctor's lean frame. "Hm… pants might be a bit short, but it'll just have to do until the morning… nowhere to shop this late, I'm afraid…"

She held out the garment to the Doctor, who held it gingerly, like a ticking time bomb.

Donna turned around and waited. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. After a few moments, it became apparent that nothing was happening. "Are you going to change or what?" Donna asked, her back still to him.

"What…? I mean… here?" the Doctor squeaked.

"Yes, here, you prawn. Unless you want to brave being shrieked at by Mum again on the way to the loo?"

The Doctor considered this. He began unbuttoning his undershirt. Donna afforded him thirty seconds or so of privacy. "You decent?" she asked.

"One second," he replied, voice muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head. "There. Decent."

Donna turned and looked him over. "Hm. Definitely too short."

"What, me?" The Doctor self-consciously straightened his back.

"The pants, you twit."

"Oh." He exhaled.

"We'll get you some of your own in the morning."

"Yes. Right."

He was looking at the floor. Donna placed a finger under his chin, and lifted his head so their eyes met. His eyes were still puffy from all the crying he had done earlier, but he seemed in better control now. She smiled at him kindly. "Let's get some sleep, yeah?"

The Doctor nodded. She took his hands into hers again, and led him quietly past the front room, past all the yelling, up the stairs and into her bedroom. She set him gently on the edge of the bed, walked over to the closet and pulled out an extra blanket. She spread the extra blanket onto the bed on the opposite side of the Doctor, and went over to her dresser. She pulled out her own set of pyjamas, simple and white. "Turn around," she commanded the Doctor.

"…what?"

"I said turn around. I have to change too, you know."

"Oh! Oh… all right." He blushed vigorously. The Doctor turned his back to her and covered his eyes with his hands as Donna changed. After a minute or so, she walked over to him, and gently removed his hands from over his eyes, laughing lightly. "It's all right, Spaceman. I'm decent."

He cautiously peeked one eye open, and seeing that she was, in fact, decent, with no extra bits hanging out, he opened the other. Donna smiled, a small, reassuring smile. "Why don't you lie down, love?" She placed a gentle but firm hand on the Doctor's shoulder, pushing him slowly into the mound of pillows at the top of her bed. When he was settled, she took the extra blanket and pulled it up over his shoulders. "In the morning, you and I are going to have a nice long chat about all of what's happened tonight. But for now… I want you to sleep. All right?"

The Doctor nodded once, and closed his eyes. He looked so much like a lost child, and it broke Donna's heart. She ran her fingers fondly through his hair, and began to hum a soft lullaby.

She didn't feel herself start to drift off, but when she stirred a few hours later and saw that someone else had placed a blanket over her, she didn't mind too much. She snuggled deeper into the Doctor's chest, listening to the thrumming rhythm of his heartbeats as she dozed off again.


	3. Boxers or Briefs?

"Good morning, Timeboy," sang a voice from somewhere to the Doctor's right. The sunlight filtered slowly through his closed eyelids, and he groaned. He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking myopically.

Donna stood beside the bed, holding two steaming cups of tea. She proffered one to him, which he gratefully accepted.

"Did I… I slept all night?"

"Yep. Seemed like you needed it, so I didn't bother you."

"You just woke me up, Donna."

"Did I, now?" Donna sat beside the Doctor, her eyes warm and caring despite the sarcasm in her voice. The Doctor loved that about her. She had a big heart, if you bothered to look through all those layers to get to it. "How are you feeling, Doctor?"

The Doctor grimaced. "I'm… I'm all right."

Donna turned to face him, fire in her gaze. "If you follow that up with 'I'm always all right,' so help me, I will-"

"Okay, okay," The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm… well, I'm a bit awful, if you have to know the truth."

Donna nodded sadly, and sipped at her tea. "That's what I thought. I am glad you slept, though. You looked as though you were about to keel over any second when we got back here last night." The Doctor made another face.

"Thank you, for that…" he began quietly. "And for saving me from Mary." He gave a small grin.

"Mary? Who's… _oh,_ that awful woman last night? Ha! I was about ready to shove my fist down her throat, I was… making such awful assumptions about you." She shook her head, laughter in her eyes.

The Doctor's smile slowly faded. "Donna…"

"Hm?"

"You do know… the… my ship…" he trailed off, unable to say her name.

Donna looked at him with concern, and took his free hand in hers. "I know, Doctor. She… spoke to me. Right before she… well, anyway, she sort of… projected all these memories back into my head. I'm not… _you,_ anymore, but I am _her_ again. The old me."

The Doctor swallowed and nodded. He gave her the tiniest of smiles. "I am so glad to have you back, Donna."  
She smiled softly and kissed his forehead. "Me too, Spaceman."

They finished their tea in amicable silence, the morning light streaming through the little window onto the rumpled bed behind them. The sounds of the city waking drifted up to them. The Doctor took a long, final draught of his tea, and set the cup on the bedside table. He looked at his companion.

"Donna, I… I just wanted to thank you. For all this." He gestured vaguely in the general direction of the rest of the house.

"Of course," she replied good-naturedly. "It's what friends do. And honestly, you're practically family by now. Mum hates you enough," she joked, "and Gramps loves you. You should probably have your own room from now on, though. Not that this hasn't been pleasant, but I'd like my bed back tonight," she winked.

"My own room…" He shook his head. "Donna, what I was going to say was that I really should be going. You've been so kind, letting me stay here, but I should really be off-"

"Bollocks," Donna said decisively. "You're not going anywhere, buster. Where would you go, anyway?"

The Doctor's mouth opened and closed a few times as he contemplated this.

"We have a guest room right by mine. It's yours now. You're staying, and that's final." Donna looked smugly triumphant.

The Doctor fell silent. She was right. He really had nowhere else to go. Now that the TARDIS was gone… what else could he do? Go to Torchwood? Without his ship, he was nothing more to them than a live tissue sample. He dismissed the thought in a heartbeat. If he left, he would be homeless. Really, truly, completely homeless; more than he had ever been in his entire existence. He missed Gallifrey, suddenly and more painfully than ever before. His eyes welled up with tears. With the TARDIS, he could at least pretend he had some sense of normality, of stability. Now, though… now she was gone, and here he was, alone and afraid, on a strange planet that he would never leave again. He began to cry quietly, respectfully, so that Donna wouldn't be bothered, but no, there she was, reaching out to him, to hold him. She seemed to know without either of them speaking exactly what he needed.

She cradled him close to her, petting his hair and shushing him. She kissed the top of his head gently. She loved him fiercely, like a mother loves her child. She hoped the Doctor would absorb some of that love, would take it into his hearts and let it heal him.

After a minute or two – the torrential outbursts of last night were a thing of the past for the Doctor – he sniffed and sat up. He wiped his nose on the striped sleeve of Wilf's pajamas, and muttered what passed as an apology to Donna. She ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Why don't we get up and get ready." She pulled him to a standing position, and stifled a laugh at his ridiculous attire. Wilf's pants came up to his knees. The Doctor shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Get dressed. Properly," Donna added. "We're going shopping."

* * *

The Doctor trundled along behind Donna, buried under five or six bags of the new clothes she had purchased for him. Truth to tell, she was having much more fun than he was at the moment, but the shopping was distracting, and he did feel much better than he had this morning.

They had gone into the city, both of them anxious to stay far away from Devonshire Square and the dead TARDIS. However, this did mean that the Doctor was in rather dire need of clothes, and Donna found it too good an opportunity to pass up.

"There, now… pyjamas, socks, shirts, pants… have we missed anything?" Donna asked, looking back at her alien as he bumbled along behind her.

"Um… I don't think so," the Doctor mumbled, anxious to set down his parcels. If it was up to him, he would have only one or two outfits, but Donna had made such a fuss over him that he had given up on arguing this point hours ago.

"Oh, I just know we've forgotten something…" She kept moving steadily onward down the street.

"I'm quite sure that this will be enough for now," the Doctor said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

Donna stopped dead in her tracks in front of the Doctor, who nearly bowled her over. "That's it!" She grinned at the storefront in front of her. "Underpants."

"…What?"

"We've been shopping for hours and haven't got you a single pair of underpants." She paused, looking at him. "You do… _wear_ underpants, don't you, Doctor?"

From behind his pile of parcels, the Doctor blushed furiously. He mumbled something incoherent.

"What was that?"

"I said, the TARDIS usually…" He swallowed. "Well, it wasn't anything I ever had to worry about until now."

Donna nodded. "Well, let's get you all sorted out." She walked around behind him and pushed him into the department store, past the semi-nude shop window dummies, and into the men's underwear section. He set the parcels from the other shops onto the floor, and stood up slowly. This was one adventure he had never even considered having, and he had no idea where even to begin. Fortunately, Donna took charge for him.

"Right," she said clinically. "Boxers or briefs?"

The Doctor's mouth opened and closed a few times. He went a darker shade of red. "I… I don't…"

"Oh, come on. It's a simple question."

"Donna, I-"

"No need to get embarrassed, Spaceman."

"Donna-"

"Doctor."

He sighed, and looked around, making sure no one was within earshot, then looked back at Donna. "I don't know," he whispered.

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

He shook his head apologetically. "Are… are boxers the long ones?"

"My god, you really don't know, do you?"

Hesitantly, he shook his head again.

Donna stared for a moment, then let out a hooting laugh. "Oh. My. God," she shrieked. "Nine hundred odd years old and doesn't know about underwear! Ask him to take apart a spaceship, sure. Teleportation? No problem. But boxers or briefs? Not the faintest!" She hooted with laughter.

The Doctor toed the ground delicately. "Sorry," he muttered.

Donna wiped a few stray tears from her eyes. "Come on, Spaceman. Let's get you sorted out." She took his hand and led him to the men's dressing room, grabbing a good selection of underwear for him to try on the way. "Now, go in there, take off what you have, and try some of these."

He took the various undergarments from her gingerly, made a face, and walked into the dressing room.

Donna sat patiently outside for a few minutes, listening to the canned music through the stores speakers that almost, but not quite, covered up the uncomfortable rustle of cloth as the Time Lord shuffled out of his pants. She grinned to herself. Absolutely no clue about underwear, of all things…

"Um… Donna?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"How do I know if…"

"If what?"

"If… well, if they fit."

Donna quickly stifled another laugh with her hand. "Which ones have you got on?"

"The, erm, yellow ones."

"Come out and show me."

There was a pause.

"Come _out_?" he squeaked from behind the door.

"Well, yeah. How do you expect me to give you quality advice on clothes I can't even see?"

He was silent again for another moment.

"No need to be embarrassed," Donna said as calmly as she could.

"I am not embarrassed!"

"I can practically hear you blushing, Doctor."

Another pause.

"Fine." The door clicked, and the Doctor stepped out shyly.

Donna sized him up, inwardly impressed. She had to admit, he was incredibly fit – for someone so skinny, of course. "You know, it's funny. You change bodies completely, and you only seem to get scrawnier."

He looked at the ground, too embarrassed to say anything at all. Donna put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Spaceman," she said softly. She looked at his waist and smiled. "It's a good look for you. Comfy?"

He nodded hesitantly.

"Then let's get a few pairs of those. You can pick out different colors in that style if you like," she said.

Gratefully, he went back into the dressing room and pulled on his pants. When he emerged fully clothed, Donna pulled him into a gentle hug. Doing things the human way obviously wasn't easy for him. She held him for a moment, not saying anything.

"Careful; don't cut yourself on my sharp, scrawny shoulders," the Doctor smirked into her hair.

Donna smiled. She was happy he was joking again, even if the jokes were terrible. She gave him another quick squeeze and let him go.

"Come on. I think we've had enough shopping for one day," she said. "Let's get our things and head back home."

The Doctor took a breath, then followed her and dutifully picked up the bags he had left on the floor. She had taken the liberty of grabbing the underpants, and several more like them, to bring to the register to pay. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he didn't have to figure that one out on his own.

They walked out of the department store and began walking back in the direction of Chiswick, laden with their new purchases. It was noon, and the sun peeked out at them from behind the clouds, respectfully cheerful.

"You should wear yellow more often," Donna remarked, a few feet ahead of the Doctor. "It suits you. And, by the wayside," she grinned mischievously, "those are the briefs."


	4. Jammy Dodgers for the Gallifreyan Soul

A piercing, anguished cry shot through the house. Donna sat up immediately, frightened and disoriented. She read the clock on the bedside table: 2:42. What on Earth could have made such a terrible noise so early in the morning?

Another cry wrenched its way into Donna's awareness. Her heart sank.

Not on Earth. Nothing on Earth could have made such a terrible noise.

"Doctor!" She jumped out of bed, bare feet running before they hit the carpet. She bolted out the door and into the next room, barging in without ceremony.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight in front of her. The Doctor lay curled in a ball at the foot of the bed, tangled in a mess of sheets. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he cried out again in his sleep. Donna quickly moved to the bed and sat by him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up into a sitting position.

"Doctor, wake up… please wake up, love… it's me, it's Donna… I'm here… shh…" She rubbed his back, muttering soothing words into his ear as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. "You were having a nightmare, love. Better now? Oh, come now…" The Doctor had woken up, and was crying. Heaving, painful sobs wracked his small body, and Donna held him tightly to her. He had buried his face in her shoulder, and her pyjamas were becoming damp with his tears. She didn't mind.

Donna shifted to a more comfortable position, still holding the Doctor close to her chest, and began to rock slowly back and forth, humming a melody she half remembered.

A light flicked on in the hallway outside. Donna looked up to see her grandfather framed in the doorway. Wilfred stared into the room, concern and surprise mixed on his features. The Doctor was never this weak, never this vulnerable…

'Is he all right?' Wilf mouthed silently. Donna nodded slightly. The way she and the Doctor were positioned, he was facing the back wall. He continued to weep, clinging to Donna and completely oblivious of the exchange happening over his shoulder.

Donna realized after some minutes that Wilf wasn't about to be reassured by a mere nod, especially with the Doctor in his current state. He continued to stand guard at the door as Donna held her alien gently. She rolled her eyes to herself. She had on her hands the two strongest, most protective men in the universe, and who was left to deal with both of them? Donna Noble, Super-Temp.

"How about some tea, love?" The words were directed to the Doctor, but she shot a meaningful look back toward Wilf, who nodded and headed back toward the kitchen.

Donna, with some small difficulty, helped the Doctor out of bed. He was more clumsy in this body than he had been before he had regenerated. Donna found it endearing.

"That's it, love… c'mere… let's just go into the lounge and have a sit, yeah?"

The Doctor sniffed and nodded, letting himself be led by his former companion. He was still crying, but making a visible effort to stop. This was silly, he chided himself. Time Lords don't cry. Time Lords are regal, Time Lords are elegant, and the most certainly _do not_ _cry_.

Donna, as if reading his thoughts, produced a tissue and handed it to him. He took it reluctantly and blew his nose with as much dignity as he could muster (which, granted, was quite a bit for someone who had just been bawling their eyes out). He finished with the tissue, and held it back out to Donna between thumb and forefinger. Regally. Elegantly.

Donna raised an eyebrow, and discarded the tissue with some distaste. "Feeling better?"

"Of course," he sniffed. The Doctor raised his chin into the air, determined to show Donna that he was a Time Lord, and not some silly, crying, snot-nosed child. "I'm always all right."

"Oi!" said Donna, putting her hands on her hips. "Don't get all high and mighty with me, buster."

"I'm a Time Lord! We _are_ all high and mighty." He sniffed again, looking for all the world like a pouting child. Donna held back a chuckle.

"Last I checked, people in their nighties don't get a say in the matter."

The Doctor looked down at his attire, and deflated immediately. She did have a point. Donna put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the couch, where she sat him down gently.

"Now, you just sit right here, and I'll get us a lovely cuppa. All right?"

The Doctor gave a nod, and Donna headed into the kitchen. Wilf accosted her almost instantly.

"Is he going to be all right?" He spoke in hushed tones, so the Doctor wouldn't hear him in the other room.

Donna sighed. "Yes, Gramps. He just had a nightmare, is all."

"Hm." Wilf grabbed the two fresh, steaming mugs of tea he had just finished preparing, and handed them to Donna, who took them gratefully. "You set him straight, you hear, Donna?"

"Yes, Gramps. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Donna."

Wilf snuck out of the kitchen quietly while Donna headed over to where the Gallifreyan sat toying sadly with his sonic screwdriver. She set down her tea, took the screwdriver with her free hand, and handed him his tea.

"Where did you have room for that in your pyjamas?" Donna looked at him quizzically. When he opened his mouth to answer, she put a finger up to it to silence him. "Nevermind, spaceman… I don't think I want to know."

The Doctor smirked. They drank their tea in silence for a few minutes.

"Doctor, I-"

"Donna-"

They both started at the same time, stopped, and grinned sheepishly at each other.

"You first," said Donna, glad that he was wanting to talk.

He looked down. "It's a silly question…" he trailed off.

"What, coming from you? All your questions are silly," she teased gently.

"I just… don't want to offend you."

"Just go for it, Spaceman," said Donna encouragingly.

"Well," he began, "ever since I got here I've been wondering… whatever happened to Shaun?"

Donna sucked in a breath. The tension was palpable. She looked down.

"Sorry!" The Doctor fumbled for words. "I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a sensitive topic… I knew I shouldn't have asked…" he berated himself.

"No, no… it's… fine. It's just… a tricky subject, you know?"

He shrugged, taking another sip of his tea.

Donna took a breath.

"Shaun and I… after a month or two, I realized it wasn't going to work. We got a winning lottery ticket, at our wedding. It was a gift, you see." The Doctor nodded sagely. He didn't bring up who it was that had given it to her. "And…" she shifted positions subtly, placing her mug on the end table beside her. "I suppose both of us went a little stir crazy, not having to work or anything. We just went mad, at least… I did, anyway. I guess I realized…" She blushed, and looked away.

"Realized what?"

"Nothing, it's silly."

"Donna," he chided gently. "You put up with my 'silly.'"

She gave him a tiny smile. "I guess I realized that he wasn't the person I wanted to be with. 'Course, at the time, I didn't realize who Mister Right was, I suppose…"

The Doctor looked at her expectantly. "What about now? Are you seeing anyone?"

She smirked. Daft alien.

"No… not in that sense."

They sat in silence for a few moments more.

"Donna, when you said you didn't realize who Mister Right was…"

"Yes?"

"Oh… nevermind. It's-"

"Don't you dare say it's silly."

He laughed, then, a genuine laugh. It had been so long since he and Donna had talked like this. His lovely, feisty Donna. How he had missed her. He looked into her eyes.

"Did you ever… realize who he was?"

Donna scrutinized him. His eyes were, in a very true sense, the windows to his soul. His very being was laid out before her, raw and fragile. She looked into his eyes, and she saw pain, yes, but also hope. Just a glimmer, but it was there. She gave him a warm smile and patted his hand.

"I've got a good idea, yeah."

"Care to share?"

She just smiled and took his now-empty mug from him. She grabbed hers as well, stood up, and headed for the kitchen.

"Let's see, I think we've got some jammy dodgers. Would you care for one?"

The Doctor perked up, delighted. "I _adore_ jammy dodgers."


	5. Interlude: Secrets and Understanding

"Just look at her, Sylvia."

"Bah."

"She is so happy. Can't you just see how happy she is?"

"With an alien hanging off her shoulder? Joy."

"Does it really matter what he is? If she's happy?"

"He'll get her killed."

"He's a good person."

"He isn't a person at all."

"He's her Doctor."

"He looks young enough to be her son."

"He's centuries old, Sylvia."

"Good lord."

"Would you just look at that, though?"

"There is nothing to see."

"See how she looks at him."

"Like a puppy following its master?"

"See how gentle she is with him."

"It's wrong."

"She needs him, I think."

"She needs her family."

"You need to let her go."

"Hmph."

"It's time, Sylvia."

A lone tear trails down the cheek of Sylvia Noble. Wilfred Mott catches it with the pad of his thumb, and with all the love a father can give, his arms wrap around her frail shoulders.

* * *

3:45 a.m.

The conversation had finally reached a lull, and an empty box of jammy dodgers sat discarded on the floor. Donna was nodding off, letting her head drop softly onto the Doctor's shoulder as they sat side by side on the couch.

The Doctor said nothing to stop her. He really did find it quite nice when they were together like this, sitting, talking. The bet of friends, the very best. He gave a small smile at the thought, and put an arm gently around Donna's shoulders. The movement roused her again, and she looked up at her alien with tired eyes.

He smiled kindly at her. "You want to go back to bed?"

"No… no, sorry… don't mean to fall asleep..." she drifted off. It was obvious she was tired.

"Here, can I try something?" the Doctor asked softly.

"Depends…" she stifled a yawn, "on what it is."

"Just relax."

"Mm."

The Doctor shifted their positions on the couch, gently lifting Donna onto his lap so she was sitting with her back to him. He put his hands on her shoulders and began kneading them gently.

"Hm… feels nice…" Donna leaned back into his soft touch, closing her eyes again.

A moment passed.

"Donna?"

"Hm?"

"…Nothing."

Another moment.

"Donna?"

"Hm?"

"Oh… never mind."

"Okay…"

Another moment."

"Donna?"

"Doctor, ask your question or let me sleep," she mumbled.

The Doctor took a breath. "Well, I just… that is to say… I mean…"

"Out with it."

He exhaled. "Donna, do you like me?"

She sat up at this, and turned around to face him. "Of course I like you, you daft alien. Why shouldn't I?"

"I mean…" he shifted uncomfortably. "As _me._ In this body."

Donna looked at him. "Well, you're still you, aren't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"But what?"

"But… but… well, I don't know," he fidgeted. "It's been bothering me since I got here, I suppose."

"What has? You looking different?"

"Well… yes."

Donna laughed. "Doctor, you really think I care what you look like?"

He looked down, a little sheepishly.

She ruffled his hair. "You're still my Doctor."

"Yeah…?"

"Course."

He took a breath. "It's just… I don't know, this is so difficult."

"What is?"

"Well… the TARDIS, being here at all… I suppose I still feel upset at that…"

"Oh, honey - "

"But it isn't _just_ that. I mean, I have all these, all these _feelings,_ and I don't know what half of them mean, and I… I just don't know what to do about that." He took a deep breath. "It's been a long time since I didn't know what to do about that."

Donna stared at him. "Feelings?"

"Yes."

"What kinds of feelings?"

"Feelings like… like…"

"Like what?"

"Feelings like you're-sitting-on-my-lap-and-I-should-be-grieving- about-the-TARDIS-but-I'm-not-because-you're-on-my- lap-and-you're-so-pretty-when-you're-tired-and-I-t hink-I-might-like-you-maybe-a-lot." The Doctor finished in one breath, and Donna almost applauded, until she remembered that he had some fancy respiratory bypass thing. Aliens.

She giggled. "I knew it."

"Did you?" He looked horrified.

"'I'm the Doctor, and I just want to mate!'" She mimed using the sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor did a very good impression of a lobster. "I never said that!"

"Oh, this is fantastic!" Donna laughed, trying to keep from making too much noise and failing rather miserably.

The Doctor looked down. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Donna wiped away a tear, and chucked him under the chin. "You really think I'm pretty?"

"Yes." He shrank back into the sofa.

"Prawn," she said affectionately. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He gave a small, hopeful smile. "Now," Donna began. "Before I tell you this, I need you to swear never to tell anyone else in the universe until I'm ready. I'm going to tell you a secret that only I know. Can you swear that to me?"

The Doctor looked confused, but nevertheless nodded.

Donna leaned in even closer, the tips of her hair gently tickling his shoulder.

"I love you too, Doctor," she whispered into his ear. She pulled away, smiling gently at him.

Grateful tears brimmed in the Doctor's eyes. She had understood. Of course she had. She was Donna Noble, beautiful, brilliant Donna Noble.

"Now, I'm going to sleep. You can either join me or do whatever it is Martians do when they don't sleep, but don't wake me up until, oh, ten or so."

The Doctor nodded, not trusting his voice yet, and hesitantly pulled her into his chest. He pulled both of them onto the couch so she was nestled in his arms in a comfortable spoon. She sighed contentedly and began to drift off again. His arm moved over her stomach and found her hand. She gave his wrist a gentle squeeze.

The Doctor breathed in the soft scent of her hair.

His Donna. His beautiful, brilliant, perfect Donna Noble.

She had finally understood.


	6. Cathedral

"You've been quiet today," Donna crunched on her granola conversationally.

The Doctor looked at her from across the table, looking lost for a moment, then pulling the corners of his mouth up into the tiniest, fakest smile Donna had ever seen. She sighed. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Mm."

"Really, it's nothing."

"Sure, Spaceman."

"Donna," he whined, fidgeting in the kitchen chair.

"Doctor," she whined back, miming his face. He scowled.

"I think I'm homesick," he mumbled, pushing his bowl across the table, away from him.

"Homesick?" Donna immediately made a worried face. She reached across the table, taking his hand. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think there is," he said. "I'm really not sure." He slumped in his chair.

Donna thought for a few moments. Then she stood up. "You find us a pen, and I'll find some paper."

The Doctor looked confused, but nevertheless stood up with her. "Why?"

"We're going to try something."

"What are we going to try?"

"You'll see."

They moved about the house for some minutes, leaving the twin bowls of granola forgotten on the table in the kitchen. Time passed. They met back up in the living room, and at Donna's insistence, sat side by side on the floor, the Doctor proffering his pen dutifully to her. She took it from him with a smile and laid a piece of paper in front of them.

"What are we trying?" the Doctor repeated.

"I read a story once, a year or two ago, about a blind man who didn't know what a cathedral looked like. So he had a man help him to understand – a man who had seen cathedrals – by drawing them out on paper for him. That's what we're going to try."

"Drawing cathedrals?" The Doctor looked beyond lost.

"Drawing home."

"Oh."

"You said you were homesick."

"I'll be fine, Donna, really – "

"Just… humor me on this, all right?"

He sighed. "Fine. Where do we begin?"

Donna smiled gently at him. "Hold your hand over mine on the pen, like this-" he wrapped his hand around hers so they were both holding the pen – "and set it on the paper."

"Only one of us can draw at a time?" he asked, still lost.

"That's the plan, Spaceman."

"But we're both holding the pen."

"Just be patient. Now, I'm going to close my eyes-"

"But you won't be able to see what you're doing!"

"That's the point, innit? The blind cathedral man. He was _blind._ It will help if I can't see what you draw."

"I'm drawing?"

"Yes."

"Um. All right…" The Doctor guided Donna's hand in a few helpless circles.

Donna sighed. "Spaceman, you're supposed to be drawing your home."

"Oh, I see."

"Just trust me on this." They locked eyes for a moment. The Doctor nodded hesitantly, and Donna closed her eyes, letting her alien completely control everything that went on the page. "Maybe try explaining what you're drawing while you do it. It might help," Donna added.

"All right…" The Doctor worked their hands in two small circles at the top of the page. "Here are the suns… Gallifrey had two suns." His hand came down, and drew a larger dome at the center of the page. "And this is the dome around the Capitol."

Donna nodded, eyes still closed, encouraging him to continue.

He shifted their hands to the inside of the globe, where he drew some tall, spiky shapes. "This is where the Time Lords lived and worked. My home, where I grew up, was outside the dome." He drew a long, slanted line at a diagonal from the dome. "I grew up in the mountains."

He paused, unsure of how to continue.

"Is this helping, Doctor?"

He nodded, then remembering that she couldn't see him nod with her eyes closed, he said, "I think so."

He continued without further prodding, drawing another slanted line coming off of the first. "This was Mount Cadon. I climbed it often in my first regeneration. A man called the Hermit lived there." The Doctor drew a stick figure at the top of the slant to represent the Hermit. "He'd tell us all stories of legendary Time Lords, ghost stories, epic stories… all kinds of stories."

"Sounds like a lovely man."

"Half those stories gave me nightmares."

"If they were ghost stories, isn't that the point?"

The Doctor laughed. "I suppose it was."

"How many moons were there?"

"Two. Two suns, two moons." He worked in two smaller circles next to the larger sun circles. "This one-" he tapped the bigger one- "you could see during the day. It was always quite lovely. My mother always said…" he trailed off.

There was a pregnant silence for a few moments. This was getting into personal territory for the Doctor.

"Your mother?" Donna asked as gently as she could.

The Doctor drew in a ragged breath. "She said as long as you could see the moon in the sky, day or night, you knew someone was looking out for you."

His hand had gone rigid.

"You okay, Spaceman?" Donna cracked one eye open to look at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You want to stop for a while?"

He looked at her gratefully. "For a few minutes…?"

Donna nodded, and set the pen down. "Is this still helping?"

The alien thought for a moment. "You know, I think it might be."

"Even when it hurts?"

"Probably because it hurts."

Donna nodded, satisfied. She was glad her idea had worked. She hadn't wanted to bring back painful memories for the Doctor, but she had finally gotten him to open up to her in some small way. It was a start, if nothing else.

She reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "You remind me of her," he said softly.

"Your mother?"

"Yes."

Donna considered this for a few moments, then pulled the Gallifreyan close to her. "Is that a good thing?"

The Doctor buried his face in her neck, breathing in her soft scent. "A very good thing."

"Someone to stop you?"

The Doctor said nothing, but his breath hitched.

Donna, feeling his emotion, placed a gentle hand on his head. She smoothed his hair.

"Gallifreyans… as a race, we didn't feel… we didn't have love, as an emotion. Respect, yes. Friendship, maybe. But never love. My mother… she was different." He was whispering now; Donna had to pay close attention to catch each thing he said. "She cared about me… so much. And I cared about her. I would have done anything… anything to save her…" his breath caught again, and the tears started.

Donna shushed him softly. "It's all right, Spaceman." She kissed the top of his head softly. "You did what you could. I'm sure she knew that."

He snuffled. "Yeah…"

She peeled him off of her after a few minutes, and gave him a kind smile.

"Would you like to continue the drawing, Doctor?"

He looked at it for a moment.

"You know… I rather think I would."

* * *

A note:

The story that Donna read is called "Cathedral," written by Raymond Carver in 1983. It is a short story, and a quick read. It is also very beautiful. I highly recommend it.


End file.
